Dining In
by maybesomedaysameen
Summary: Shaw works at a diner and Root keeps stopping by.


A crash of thunder chased Shaw into the diner, blowing her inside, cold and shivering. Dark clouds had chased her across town, invisible in the night sky, but looming and threatening all the same. After tossing and turning for most of the evening, she'd woken up at 2:00am to get ready. The wind and rain had whispered at her windows, promising a downpour and bone-deep chill.

Shaw glanced at the clock as she stalked across the floor, ignoring the puddles of water she was leaving behind. 4:00am. She was perfectly on time. Her car had broken down half a mile up the road and she had to lug her bags the rest of the way, losing her lead and getting overrun by the storm. An unseasonable chill had sunk its fingers into her spine and she was grateful for the warmth of the small restaurant.

Cursing herself for forgetting a jacket, she blew on her fingers as she crossed the floor.

"Miss Shaw, may I remind you that you're supposed to be walking out onto the floor at 4 o'clock, not arriving," Mr. Finch said, glaring at her from behind the counter. His glasses glowed for a moment as lightening struck the ground outside the diner. "I had to take the first few orders myself."

Shaw rolled her eyes and headed into the back. "I'm here, Finch. That's the best you're getting."

She pushed into the break room, the wooden door slamming against the wall with a crack, and dropped her backpack and duffel bag onto the table in the center of the room. Kicking off her shoes, she wished again that she could just leave this rural hellscape. She'd only taken this job because it paid well enough for her to work part time. She commuted to the local community college to teach self-defense most afternoons. It wasn't that exciting, but between the two jobs, she was able to save up for a bus ticket to somewhere else.

Shaw moved to the washer and dryer set against the back wall, pulling her shirt over her head. The diner was open 24 hours, so all of their aprons were washed in house. Right now, as she peeled off soaking wet jeans, she was very thankful. A clap of thunder echoed through the room and Shaw looked over her shoulder to watch the windows shake. She quickly shoved her clothing into the dryer, started the cycle, and moved back to the table.

It only took her a minute to get dressed in her extra set of clothing. She heard Mr. Finch calling her and quickly shoved her gun back into her duffel bag, zipping it up and shoving it under the table. Grabbing an apron on the way out of the room, she whistled when she saw the thunderstorm through the windows.

Outside the safety of the diner, the night looked like it was in motion. Rain beat against the windows, begging for entrance. The wind blew the sheets of rain in every direction and Shaw prayed to no one that it stopped by the time her shift finished in 8 hours. The idea of swimming back to her car and then driving home in the torrential storm did not appeal to her.

Reaching up to braid her hair, she entered the main space. The heat from the kitchen dried her skin, her bare arms warming slightly. The only person she could see on this side of the room was Artie, a frequent visitor who sat for hours and worked on computing projects. He was a professor of something, but Shaw could never care long enough to learn more. She stopped at the end of the counter and put her apron over her head.

"Miss Shaw," Mr. Finch said, walking out from behind the counter and handed her the ordering pad, "Your friend is here."

Shaw scowled and snatched the pad from his hands. "Root is not my friend."

Mr. Finch shrugged, apathetic, and left the floor. Shaw slid behind the counter and glanced at the orders he'd taken. Only a couple people came in this early in the morning. Their clientele was mostly truckers and road trippers. They were right off I-95 in Middle of Nowhere, Iowa next to the only gas station for miles and that was probably how Finch managed to stay open.

None of the orders Finch had taken looked too complicated, so Shaw sighed and poured a glass of water for her least favorite person in the world. Thunder cracked as she headed out to Root's table. Root was already staring at her, completely dry despite the storm outside.

Root had first stopped by two months ago, during a storm like this one. She'd come in during their rush time, hands bloody and eyes wild. Shaw had been the only one brave enough to approach her, approaching her cautiously as the other patrons and waitresses shrunk back. Root had told her some crazy story about hitting a deer on the side of the road and trying to save its life, but it died anyway and then seeing the deer had made her hungry.

Shaw wasn't sure she believed her story. Somedays, she didn't even believe Root was human. Root had started coming to the diner every morning and only let Shaw take her order. If she was working a later shift that day, Root waited for her. Every time Root came in, she had blood on her somewhere.

Today, Root had a smudge on her forehead. It was already dried and thick. Shaw rolled her eyes as she stopped in front of the booth, setting the water onto the table.

"Your head is bloody," she sighed.

"Oh!" Root grabbed a napkin from the holder and dipped it into her glass of water, wiping her forehead. She glanced up at Shaw. "Is it gone?"

It wasn't.

"Give me that."

Shaw dropped her pad onto the table and took the damp napkin from Root. She grabbed Root's chin, jerking it up so she could see. Root's skin was warm and smooth in her hand, and she shivered slightly. Softly wiping Root's forehead, she noticed that Root's eyes were the same color as the dried blood, dark and red and mesmerizing.

"You should stop getting blood everywhere."

Root shrugged, her eyes fixed on Shaw's. "If you're going to keep cleaning it off me, I think I might need more."

Shaw stared at her, disbelieving. Root seemed like an actual serial killer, but she was almost cute enough to make it ok. For a moment, Root's eyes drew her in, deep and chilling. The air in the room suddenly seemed thin and Shaw drew a deep breath, sucking in oxygen. When she let her breath out, it was foggy in the still air. Root blinked and Shaw was free.

She scowled and threw the napkin onto the booth next to Root, snatching her hand away. "You're ridiculous." Shaw picked up her pad and flipped it open, pulling a pen from her apron. "What do you want to eat?"

Root wiggled her eyebrows, making Shaw groan.

"Well, Sameen," Root sighed, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table, "it's a little too public for what I want."

"Root…" Shaw warned. "You're going to get me fired. Just order something."

"If you got fired, would you join me on the road?" Root asked, head tilting to the side. A small smile tugged at her lips. "I could make it worth your while."

"For a truck driver, you seem to stay in the area." Shaw was curious, though. She looked over her shoulder, but Finch wasn't around. She slid into the booth opposite Root. "Are you ever going to tell me what it is you really do?"

Root grinned. "Interested?"

Shaw opened her mouth to deny it, but the kitchen bell dinged, calling her back to work. She clicked her mouth shut and stood, heading back to the counter. She stepped up to the kitchen window and stuck her head through.

"Hey, Reese," she greeted.

The fry cook just nodded, looking ridiculous in his suit. Reese had worn a suit to work every day for the last 3 years. Shaw watched him wipe his hands on his dirty apron and rolled her eyes.

She wrote a quick order for Root, a stack of pancakes and a side of bacon, and stuck it into one of the clips that hang above the kitchen window. She picked up the order he'd finished and headed for table 4.

"Morning, Artie." Shaw said, sliding the plate of steak tips down in front of him. "How's your robot coming along?"

Arthur looked up from his phone at her and smiled. He waved at her, but forgot he was holding a mug of coffee, launching it onto the front of her apron. Shaw cursed as the coffee burned her through her clothes, leaving her with nothing to wear.

"I'm so sorry, Sameen!"

Artie tried to stand up and help her, but she just pushed him back into the booth and stomped off to the break room. Ripping her apron off as she pushed into the office, Sameen growled loudly. Now, she had to stay in the office for an hour until her first pair of clothing was clean and dried.

Crossing the room with a huff, she banged on the door to Finch's office. When he opened it, she threw her dirty apron at his feet.

"Artie spilled coffee on my clothing again," she bit out through clenched teeth. "I'm going to murder him. I don't care that he's your best friend, or ex-boyfriend, or whatever bullshit explanation you give me today. I will slit his throat."

"Miss Shaw," Finch started, straightening his tie, "I'll go out and handle orders and you can wash your clothing in here."

She shoved her finger in his face. "You stay out there this time, Finch. If I catch you trying to see me naked again, I will kill you."

"Of course, Miss Shaw." Harold stepped around her and away from her threatening scowl. "I remind you that last time was an accident, but I will stay clear of this room."

"You'd fucking better," she muttered to herself as he left. "Pretentious asshole."

Shaw kicked her shoes off as she crossed the room. Artie ruined her clothing at least once a week and she always ended up naked for over an hour, waiting for the laundry. She undressed in front of the washing machine. The first couple of times it happened, Finch had tried to cut her pay for the time she was stuck in the office. She'd forced him to pay her for the time because it was his weird ass friend that took her off the floor.

Pulling open the washing machine and throwing her dirty clothing in, Shaw sighed. At least she could get work out while she was in here. Working two jobs cut into her personal time and she was starting to get out of shape. If someone from her past were to show up, she needed to be in good condition. Shaw lifted herself onto her tiptoes and reached for the laundry detergent.

She heard the door open and scowled. "Seriously, Finch? I'm going to punch you in the throat It's too goddamn early for this shit."

"I'd let you punch me."

Shaw turned around, caught off-guard. Root was leaning on the doorframe, smiling. She stepped forward, reaching out to push the door shut. When it closed, the room seemed to get colder. A crack of thunder made the windows rattle. Shaw rolled her eyes.

"You're not supposed to be back here."

Root shrugged, unphased. "You going to kick me out?" she asked, sauntering across the room.

Root's eyes ran over the bags under the table as she passed. Shaw wouldn't be surprised if she knew what was inside. Root always knew too much. She shivered as the cold air chilled her almost naked body.

Shaw put her hands on her hips, refusing to back away when Root got close. "This room is for employees only. I could kick you out. Literally."

"Oh, Sameen," Root sighed, only inches away, "you wouldn't hurt me."

"Debatable," Shaw snorted. This close, Root smelled like ozone and blood and the first thing you see when you wake from a nightmare. "You don't know me."

"I know your name, Sameen Shaw." Root's head dipped down, lips almost touching Shaw's. "I know your heart's true desire."

Shaw's eyes snapped to Root's, the dark red drawing her in and making her lightheaded. Something was wrong, a distant corner of Shaw's brain screamed, but she didn't move or run or try to fight. Instead, she let Root kiss her, let Root wrap freezing cold hands around her waist, let Root back her up against the table.

Shaw had been kissed before. That boy in the seventh grade, the girl in high school, anyone who caught her eye in college. This kiss was different. Her skin felt like it was burning under Root's hands. When she tangled her fingers into Root's long hair, Root moaned and Shaw desperately swallowed the sound. It took all of Shaw's self-control not to rip Root's clothing off and fuck her on the floor.

"Do it," Root groaned. "Give in."

Shaw did. She pushed Root's leather jacket off her shoulders, running her hands down bare arms as they were exposed. Root's skin was as soft as Shaw though it would be, like it always was in her early morning dreams. Moving her hands, she dipped her fingers into the front of Root's jeans, pulling her close.

She ran her lips over Root's neck, unbuttoning Root's jeans with nimble fingers. Root's smell was intoxicating, sharp and dangerous. It made Shaw even dizzier. They stumbled towards the table, Root slamming into it with a grunt. Root hands flew behind her for balance.

Shaw felt crazy. Her head spun from Root's closeness and she ripped Root's blouse open, sending buttons across the room. Root's hands pulled Shaw forward, and their mouths met again. Root tasted like a car crash, like sandwiches and sweat. When Root's tongue pushed into her mouth, Shaw could taste smoke and pain and steel.

Her eyes flew open, suddenly fully aware again. Root's hands suddenly burned like fire. Shaw started to sweat, the room no longer cold. A window blew open, crashing against the wall and making Root jump.

Shaw took advantage of the opening and dropped to her knees. Root's smell was intoxicating and Shaw finally recognized it. She reached between Root's legs to her bags, pulling out her gun and moving away. Root pouted as Shaw climbed to her feet.

"Come on, Sameen," Root said, holding her hands out, "I'm not going to hurt you."

Shaw didn't bother aiming her gun. She didn't need to. "I get it now. I should have known. The cold in May. The dreams. The-"

"You've dreamt about me? Sameen!"

" -weird smells." Shaw rolled her eyes at Root's interruption. "Whatever you've come for, you aren't going to get it."

Root pushed herself away from the table. Despite her thin frame, she took up a lot of space in the room. "I think I will. If you won't open yourself to me willingly, I'll take your soul from you with force."

Shaw laughed, surprising Root. "Don't they tell you demons anything?" She put a hand on her hip, her gun hanging from her other hand. "I don't have a soul, Root. You're 20 years too late."

"What?" Root waved a hand through the air, black smoke trailing in its path. The smoke coalesced into a piece of paper. "'Sameen Shaw. Finch's Diner. I am owed.' What do you owe if not your soul?"

Shaw shrugged and held up her gun. "This, probably. The Devil made a deal with a 14 year old and now he wants his toy back."

"Oh," Root sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I did all this for a gun? That's not very fun."

"If you tell me how you became the Devil's errand girl, I'll give it to you."

Root's eyebrows shot up and she dropped the paper. It turned back to smoke before it hit the ground. Root stepped forward, back into Shaw's space. The smoke and memory smell of a demon filled Shaw's senses again, but this time, it didn't affect her. It just smelled like Root.

"A story like that has a real price, not a physical object that I'll take anyway."

"Ok," Shaw nodded. "I made a deal because the men who ran my group home were abusive, hurting me and the other girls. So, I killed them. All five of them."

Root shook her head, unimpressed. "You sold your soul for a gun? You can flash your tits in Walmart and get a gun. What did you really get?"

"Aim." Shaw met Root's eyes. "I got perfect aim and a steady hand."

"It still seems like you got the short end of the stick," Root sighed. "Especially because you have to give the gun back."

"Not going to happen," Shaw snorted. "I bought it, fair and square."

Root turned around, walking back to the table. "I suppose."

"Alright," Shaw said, crossing her arms. "Your turn."

Nodding, Root hopped onto the table. Her long legs swung beneath her. "When I was born, there wasn't all of this technology. My best friend was taken from me…and I got her back."

Shaw whistled. Something that big cost more than a soul. Bring the dead back from life required real sacrifice, racked up a large debt. No wonder Root was running around gathering artifacts and stealing souls. Shaw ran her eyes over Root's face, wondering what she looked like before she'd died.

"It was about 500 years ago," Root said softly. "So, she's dead again, but she got to live a full life. I, however, have not lived since." She pointed at her eyes. "Obviously."

"Do you like what you do?" Shaw asked. "Do you actually drive a truck?"

Root laughed, pulling her legs up in front of her. "I do drive a truck. A big one."

Shaw waited a moment, but Root didn't continue. If she were someone else, Shaw would feel bad for Root. She'd offer sympathy or something, offer her comfort. Instead, Shaw tossed her the gun.

"Take it." Shaw crossed her arms again. "I still have what It gave me. I don't need that."

Root smiled softly. "Thanks."

They stared at each other in silence for a few minutes. The storm was still raging outside and Shaw stared out the open window and the rain. Root would probably stop coming to the diner now that she had what she wanted. Shaw would go back to just serving food and teaching self-defense to a bunch of housewives.

She wondered what it would be like, riding with Root. It was probably exciting and dangerous, nothing like this place. Shaw was so tired of hiding. She'd been hiding since the group home, trying to keep a low profile and just live her life in peace. The problem was that she didn't want peace.

"I know," Root breathed, snapping Shaw back to the present. "This isn't where you belong."

Shaw frowned. She didn't like that Root was still in her head, but Shaw almost trusted that Root would respect her privacy.

"Take me with you," Shaw demanded. "I can keep you company and you can take me away from here."

"I don't think so," Root laughed. "Humans are fragile."

Shaw shook her head. "Not me. We'll get me a gun, a big one, and I'll be fine."

Root considered her for a moment, red eyes boring into Shaw's brain. It made Shaw feel small again, young and tempestuous. She was literally naked in front of Root.

"Ok," Root agreed, sliding off the table, "it's a deal. I take you away and you keep me company. A fair trade."

Shaw nodded, grateful to be leaving this shitty town. She wasn't sure how to feel, excited probably, and happy. Instead, she just stood in front of Root.

"I don't remember what we do now. Something painful."

Root held a hand out, palm up. "Give me your hand."

Shaw put her hand on top of Root's, tense. When their palms touched, a rush of heat blew through her, like she'd stepped into a blazing fire. She watched as white smoke twisted itself like a rope around their hands. It hurt more than anything in her life had, more than her first deal.

Maybe it was because she was older, because she didn't have as much to give. It felt different, though, like the future, like new beginnings. When you're older, it hurts to begin and this must be the greatest beginning Shaw has ever had.

The pain began to subside and Shaw pulled her hand away. She looked it over for marks, but it didn't look any different than before. Shaw didn't feel any different than before. She looked at Root as the room lit up with lightning. Shaw took a deep breath as the thunder crashed.

Root tilted her head. "Let's go."

"Uh," Shaw gestured to her body, "I need clothes."

"Oh," Root said, chuckling, "right. How long will that take?"

She glanced at the dryer. "Another 30 minutes?"

"Hmm," Root hummed, slowly pulling her open blouse off her shoulders, "what can we do to kill the time?"

"I can think of something," Shaw smirked. She paused for a moment, looking over her shoulder at the closed door. "Wait. Is everyone still out there?"

"Oh, they're dead." Root winced when Shaw turned to glare at her. "Whoops?"


End file.
